


feel it break

by Teumessian



Series: The Boundless Saga [7]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Barbarism, Drama, Kissing, M/M, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 04:37:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6890503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teumessian/pseuds/Teumessian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the crown is cast off, the sound of its fall will ring across the earth. Alec can only be pushed so far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	feel it break

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to Emma for working on this series with me; it's literally the most fun. Thanks to Beka for her beta! 
> 
> Sorry I should have more notes but my brain is fried. Title and epigraph is from The Driver by Bastille. 
> 
> Literally can't wait to hear what you all think of this one.

 

// B I G  B O Y S  D O N ’ T  C R Y \\\  
\\\ T H E Y  D O N ’ T  A S K  W H Y //

 

_There was a time when a moment like this_

_Wouldn’t ever cross my mind_

_The sun will rise with my name on your lips_

_‘Cause everything will change tonight_

 

-

 

“He’ll be fine in a few days, but if he had used any more energy…”

Magnus lies still and pale under the plush duvet of his bed. Alec can’t look away from his hollow cheeks, from his closed, shadowless eyelids. Guilt sits like a pile of rocks in his stomach and Magnus’ hand is cold in Alec’s.

“I should have been there,” Alec says, shoulders tense.

They were on a scouting mission upstate, looking for a missing werewolf pack, when a horde of demons attacked the Institute.

“It’s not your fault,” Isabelle says from where she stands by Alec’s side.

“No… It’s not _your_ fault,” Clorophia agrees, arms folded angrily across her chest—she looks tired herself, most of her power spent restoring Magnus.

In spite of Clorophia’s initial—and admittedly understandable—misgivings about Alec, he’d earned her cautious respect in time. Permanently branding Magnus’ name over his heart had at least convinced her that he planned to stick around as long as possible. Plus, Alec isn’t the same confused, scared boy he was two years ago.

A muscle in Alec’s jaw jumps as his teeth grind together, fury welling up in his chest.

No, he isn’t confused anymore.

And he knows whose fault this is.

 

Jace fills Maryse in on the details of their mission with a grim tone. Their trip was a success, but he can’t stop thinking about the way Alec had clutched his chest as the rune over his heart started to burn half way through their return journey. He can’t stop seeing the image of Alec’s face when he heard about the attack.

“Thank you, Jace. Even though it took longer than we’d hoped, you did well. I’ll—”

_“How could you let this happen.”_

She’s cut off by the furious sound of Alec’s voice. He strides across the empty control room floor with a purpose like Jace hasn’t seen in him before. Jace doesn’t miss the way Maryse pulls her shoulders back a bit, stands up straighter.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she says in that imperious tone she always takes with Alec these days.

It’s hard for Jace. Maryse and Robert took him in and raised him but, the older they get, the harder it becomes to accept the way Maryse treats her biological children—even more so since the fall of Valentine and the excuse of impending doom vanished. Jace can only justify their actions for so long.

“Magnus never should have been in that battle. The demons attacked the Institute. It wasn’t a warlock affair,” Alec growls, brows knotted over his dark eyes.

Jace takes a step back to make room for Alec, unsure if he’s ever seen his parabatai so angry. He’s surprised the ground behind him hasn’t turned to hot coals; fury radiates from him. Maryse clearly doesn’t sense the danger, doesn’t sense the change in her son.

She looks away and begins to pick a report up from the table.

“The decision to call in the High Warlock of Brooklyn resulted in zero casualties—”

Alec slams his hand down on the report, forcing the papers back to the table with a bang. Maryse finally looks directly at him.

“ _One casualty_ ,” he nearly shouts. “Magnus almost _died._ You should have called us back.”

Maryse narrows her eyes.

“You were under direct orders from the Clave. With other options available to me, I couldn’t justify—”

“You knew he’d come because of _me—_ because Max was here. No matter his power, his expertise is in spells, wards; he’s not a soldier, and he was almost _killed—_ or doesn’t that matter because he’s a downworlder?!”

Fury settles over Maryse’s features now, too. She grips the edge of the table tightly.

“My priority is this _Institute_ and the Clave. As _yours should be,_ ” she hisses. “Your loyalties have been compromised from the moment you chose that Warlock over your own people and dishonored this family.”

Alec’s hand are balled into fists, and Jace wants to intervene, but Maryse isn’t done.

“Perhaps if you’d completed your mission more quickly, you could have handled this yourself,” Maryse says.

Alec takes half a step back, like he’s been slapped. Jace doesn’t know why, but it’s those words that make him deflate.

The fire goes out in his eyes, sudden as blowing a candle out, and he looks utterly and completely exhausted. He looks worn, old far beyond his years. Even though Alec has always supposedly been their leader, Jace isn’t blind to the fact that he’s held a large sway over the older Shadowhunter through the years. He almost thought they’d shared the command, two sides to a coin, but never has the cost of being their actual leader been so clear. Alec’s voice is low, nearly emotionless, when he speaks.

“I’m never going to be enough, am I?”

The room is silent and the question hangs heavy in the air between mother and son. Maryse’s mouth narrows to a thin line and she doesn’t reply. Alec continues.

“I gave you the first twenty two years of my life without question... I followed every order. I did _everything_ you asked. I never even hesitated and yet you still wanted more. I just wanted one thing for myself. I’d literally never asked you for one damn thing… and afterwards I did everything in my power to make it up to you. I protected Izzy, Jace, _and_ Clary. I tried to fix the taint that _you_ brought on the Lightwood name. We brought down Valentine. I killed one of the Kings of Hell,” Alec says, voice mysteriously flat. Jace’s eyes flash to the fang of Anchebeddon which now hangs above the training room floor. Alec presented it to Maryse and Robert in the wake of the battle in Idris. “But… it’s never going to be enough, is it? I was never going to be enough… and you’ll never forgive me for choosing him.”

Maryse says nothing and Jace is paralyzed. Alec no longer meets Maryse’s gaze. He looks away from her, looks resigned in ways that Jace hasn’t seen in him since he engaged himself to Lydia. It makes Jace worried.

“That’s what I thought...” he says as Maryse holds her silence. He takes a breath, closing his eyes for just a minute. “If I could restore the Lightwood name, would you forgive me?”

Maryse’s nostrils flare, a cold fire in her words.

“As long as you continue your affair with that _downworlder_ , it’s an impossible task,” she says.

“That wasn’t the question,” Alec presses. “If I could bring honor back to our family, would you forgive me for not marrying Lydia? For not letting _you_ pick my bride? Would you forgive me for falling in love with Magnus Bane?”

“I don’t see how you think—”

“ _Answer me,”_ Alec says, unyielding, eyes still stuck at middle distance. “Tell me.”

Maryse raises her head higher, and Jace knows her pride won’t let her back down. This is a new Alec though, and it’s not going to turn out like it has in the past. He isn’t sure what will happen when these two forces meet.

“ _Fine,”_ she says. “Yes. If you restore the Lightwood name, I’ll forgive you for the embarrassment you’ve brought upon this family.”

It’s harsh, cruel even, but Alec doesn’t flinch. He nods once, jaw set.

“Okay.”

Then he walks away. Jace is quick to follow after him. He takes one last look at Maryse over his shoulder. She still stands in the same place, back facing them, palm resting on the table.

 

Their footsteps are loud in the empty hallway, echoing around chaotically as Jace catches up to Alec.

“So, by the way you were talking back there, I assume you have a plan,” Jace comments, knowing Alec well, even in this unusual state.

“Yeah,” Alec says, voice level. “Tonight I’m submitting myself to endure Irak-Ta.”

Jace’s feet root themselves to the floor and he lurches violently, almost tripping face first into flagstones. Alec keeps moving, even as Jace’s jaw drops. A slight roaring has begun to ring in his ears. He’s heard the word before, in epic tales, in old tomes.

Never like this.

“That’s… it’s not done anymore. It hasn’t been done since the middle ages,” Jace says, shell-shocked.

“We’ll see. It’s not illegal, technically,” Alec says.

Jace realizes that Alec is _serious_. His stride is sure as he gets farther away from Jace.

“They wouldn’t… Alec, _hey!”_ Jace barks as he jogs to catch Alec.

Jace grabs him by the shoulder, spinning him around and pushing him up against a wall. He fists one hand into Alec’s coat to hold him in place, an almost panicked snarl on his lips.

“Why the _fuck_ would you—It’s not _worth_ it, Alec. Over a name, you can’t just—why would you even _want to—_ ” Jace cuts out, the words dying on his tongue as it clicks. It all flashes into startling clarity. His hand is still hanging from Alec’s jacket as his shoulders drop and he leans away, body slack. “It’s not about honor… it’s not about forgiveness. You’ve been thinking about this for a while.”

How else would he know the ritual isn’t technically illegal? Why else would he be ready with this plan? Jace slumps as it all settles into place. Alec stares him down.

“I knew it would come to this at some point… yeah.”

Jace wants to hit him.

“Still, you can’t just…”

Alec leans against the wall, looking down through his eyelashes.

“I _have_ to do this, Jace,” Alec says. “And I’ll need your help.”

“You can’t ask me to…”

“Jace. Please. If you understand, then you have to help me.”

Jace’s fist tightens again. Angels and devils cast in glass hang over their heads.

“They won’t accept your request,” Jace insists, because he has to believe that. “Maryse won’t let you.”

Alec’s eyes are shadowy, and that resignation that Jace fears is palpable between them. His head tips back against the wall as he holds Jace’s eyes.

“Well… then we’ll know.”

 

Magnus feels well when he wakes. There’s a deep soreness in his body, but it’s not an all-together awful feeling, similar to the results of the yoga classes he occasionally takes with Isabelle. He can sense the remnants of Clorophia’s magic; she does good work. Magnus will have to get her something to show his gratitude.

The Warlock sits up and notices the chair by his bedside. A battered copy of Beowulf rests on the seat.

Alec.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, Magnus slides from the bed.

He finds Alec in the kitchen. The Shadowhunter is hunched over the counter, hair damp, dressed only in a pair of shorts that hang low on his hips. His shoulders bunch as he scrubs at the counter with a sponge. Magnus has no idea where it came from—god knows Magnus hasn’t touched one in decades. He leans against the doorframe.

“Fruit of my heart, what’s wrong? You only clean our magically spotless abode when you’re unsettled,” Magnus says.

“Magnus!” Alec says as he spins around, looking surprised to see him standing there. “You should be resting.”

Alec looks a bit spooked, and yet just the sight of him is forcing a calm over Magnus’ body—such a curious effect.

“Ah. So I guess you’ve heard about my _oh so heroic_ exploits,” Magnus says and regrets it almost immediately as dark shadows cloud Alec’s features.

His knuckles are white around the sponge and a few drops of water splat to the hardwood.

“You almost _died_ , Magnus,” Alec rasps.

Boy does he know it. Sending an emergency fire message to Clorophia was the last thing he remembered of that trying battle. At least the demon was defeated, though.

Magnus’ face softens.

“I’m alright, Alec. I’m fine,” Magnus says.

Alec looks wretched, brow twisted with misery. Then he drops the sponge and rushes towards Magnus. Arms close around him and a big warm body presses him into the doorframe. The smell of clean skin and Alec’s shampoo fills Magnus’ nose as he slips his arms around Alec’s waist and pulls him even closer.

He feels Alec’s breath shake on the exhale.

“You shouldn’t have been in that fight,” Alec says, and Magnus can almost feel the weight on his shoulders. “I was so… your rune started to burn and I thought…”

“I’m okay, mon chou. I’m okay… are you?” Magnus murmurs.

One of Alec’s palms cups Magnus’ nape and his arms are solid and warm around his shoulders. The deep breaths that Alec draws and releases are tickling his neck and starting to send shivers down Magnus’ spine. He isn’t sure he’s ever been held exactly this way before, like he’s something both fragile and unimaginably precious. It makes his heart race and his head feel light, overcome.

“I will be,” Alec says, which Magnus admittedly thinks is an odd response. He can’t bring himself to mention it when Alec is holding him like this. “Just promise to never answer another call from my mother.”

Magnus dances his fingers into the dip of Alec’s spine.

“But what if I miss a brunch invite?”

It draws a _nearly_ humorless laugh from Alec—good enough.

They stay close, just like that, for long seconds, just standing and sharing warmth for a while. Magnus breaks the silence when he can’t stop his hands from beginning to wander.

“So, did you wear this just for me?” Magnus asks, palms skating over the rounded lines of Alec’s bare back.

Alec snorts.

“Enough, Magnus,” Alec says, knowing Magnus’ intentions well. “You need rest, not… that.”

Magnus doesn’t give up. He turns his head so he can kiss the base of Alec’s neck and moves his hands more deliberately, petting up and down Alec’s spine. Oh, how he appreciates Alec’s natural proclivity towards shirtlessness in private.

“Oh, darling, _this_ is exactly what I need. You’ve been away for weeks…”

With Alec’s mortality in mind, any length of time apart feels like a theft to Magnus.

The Shadowhunter looks down at Magnus’, beautiful, multitoned irises shadowed by his downcast eyelashes. They’re considering, unsure.

“I promise, my love. I’m fine,” Magnus insists and tips his head back against the molding.

This close he can see Alec’s pupils dilate. One of his hands has slid down to Magnus’ waist. Alec’s other thumb traces the line of Magnus’ jaw as he dips his head to press their lips together.

There’s no heat in that one, just tenderness.

Just hello. Hello again.

“Fine,” Alec whispers against his lips. “But don’t push yourself… leave it to me…”

“But what if it gets out that Magnus Bane isn’t a perfectly giving lover?” Magnus murmurs in jest.

There’s no better sensation in the world to Magnus than the _feeling_ of Alec’s soft laughter.

“I promise not to tell a soul,” Alec says.

“Well, then I suppose one time won’t ruin my legacy,” Magnus muses as Alec kisses the bolt of his jaw, then lower.

The sound of lips meeting and parting from skin is already making Magnus’ body heat. His magic, tired as it is, is roused by Alec’s touch, as always. Magnus lets out a hum as Alec sucks and nips at the skin just above the collar of his silk pajamas.

He feels Alec catch the arrowhead pendant hanging around his neck between two fingers. He glances upwards, and the image is devastating.

“Take whatever power you need. Don’t push yourself,” Alec commands, strength in the words.

He brings his lips back to Magnus’ skin, kissing him lazily. Magnus begins to expect a slow session of lovemaking. He expects Alec to strip him down and take him, tender and gentle. Maybe Alec will even ride him…

He doesn’t expect the kisses to turn, beginning to fall more quickly, more messily. He doesn’t expect Alec’s breath to start to race, or his biceps to bulge as he draws a hand down Magnus thigh and roughly pulls it up over his own hip.

He gasps wildly when Alec’s teeth dig into his flesh, marking and claiming as he presses Magnus into the doorway.

He doesn't expect Alex to fall on him like a hurricane.

He doesn’t expect Alec to make it only halfway down the hall before ripping Magnus’ clothes off his body. The Warlock can’t stop babbling when Alec’s fingers sink into the globes of his ass, and his sweat-slicked back shifts against the wall. It’s all so much and it’s not long before Magnus is reaching out, dipping into the overwhelming well of power that hides inside his Shadowhunter.

It leaves them both moaning.

Magnus doesn’t expect Alec to speak. The mattress protests when Alec thrusts into him, hips snapping as he drives Magnus to incoherency.

Inaudible, broken syllables drip from Alec’s lips as he nears his climax. Magnus thinks they’re important, that he should be gathering them up, but he can’t grasp a single one - too drunk on passion and the intensity of Alec’s energy, his own brand of magic. Magnus doesn’t expect Alec’s eyes to burn into him, finally silent, when he fucks Magnus over the edge.

In the aftermath, Magnus shakes in Alec’s arms.

The Shadowhunter shakes more.

 

Alec refuses to let Magnus clean them up with magic, but it actually feels nice to let Alec wipe over his skin with a soft, warm cloth. Watery morning sunlight has started to seep through the windows and Alec picks up a book from the bedside table. It’s a collection of obscure Warlock fairy tales that they’ve been working through in the quiet moments.

Magnus rests his head in the crook between Alec’s neck and shoulder and lets himself drift as the Shadowhunter begins to read. He gets through one story, a short and sweet tale about two sisters and a lost magic, but then Alec goes quiet.

“Alexander?” Magnus asks, tipping his head up. Alec doesn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah… yeah,” he says and then looks down at Magnus. “You know I love you, right?”

Magnus’ brow furrows. He’s caught off guard and Alec apologizes.

“Sorry, I just… I know even after all this time I’m not great at just saying it but… I love you,” Alec reiterates. “And I worry about losing you, too. The thought… it’s unbearable.”

He’s looking down at his free hand, spinning an inscribed silver band—a gift from Magnus for Alec’s last birthday—around his finger with his thumb. The corners of his mouth are turned down and Magnus wants to smooth out all the little worry lines on his face. He reaches out for Alec’s fidgeting hand.

“I’m… sorry I scared you, darling,” Magnus says, still unsure of the catalyst of these words.

That at least makes a half-smile twitch over Alec’s features. He gathers Magnus to him more tightly.

“Thank you for that. I know it wasn’t your fault but… please don’t ever do it again,” Alec says.

“I’m definitely open to the request,” Magnus says, hooking his calf over Alec’s knee under the duvet.

Alec sighs and then sobers again. He rests his cheek against the top of Magnus’ head.

“I just want you to always know that… no matter what happens, I love you.”

Magnus’ brow furrows, unsure where the words are coming from, and he wants to look up, but held so tightly he can’t see Alec’s face. His palm rests over his name on Alec’s chest and he realizes Alec must be more shaken than Magnus even realized. It would explain the violet passion of their love making at least… He pulls himself even closer, trying to eradicate any and all space between them.

“Of course, gazelle. Of course…”

He feels Alec’s lips on the top of his head and fights the urge to close the curtains with magic, hiding them away from the world.

 

“Your form is better but you need to keep off your toes,” Alec says, swinging his practice sword down in an arc so Clary has to throw her blade upward to block it. She’s forced to take a step back, but she’s long past being disarmed by an attack like that. “You’ll lose ground if your weight isn’t rooted. I know you prefer a light stance for the speed but you can’t sacrifice steadiness…”

Alec is satisfied as she shifts her weight and launches a series of counter blows. Jace is on the practice bag and he doesn’t watch Clary nervously like he used to, afraid of Alec pushing her too hard. She’s come a long way since she arrived at the Institute. She’s not quite the natural fighter that Jace, Alec, or even Isabelle are, but her rune-work is unmatched and makes her an asset on missions. Plus, she’s dedicated to her training, which Alec respects above anything else.

Alec is about to push Clary to defend the consistent weak spot on her left side when there’s a resounding crash from the entry hall.

_“NO!”_

He barely glances in Jace’s direction before a real seraph blade hits his upraised palm and they’re rushing towards the sound.

However, there are no monsters or demons present when they arrive. There’s just Maryse, a broken vase, and a piece of paper shaking in her hand. Quivering fingers hover over her mouth as she stares down at the words before her.

“What happened?” Jace says, eyes still roving the corners and shadows for enemies.

“Are you okay?” Clary asks.

Maryse’s eyes are wide with shock when she looks up at them. She’s pale.

“Why did I just receive a letter… accepting a bid for Alec to endure Irak-Ta…” she asks, stunned horror in her words.

Alec drops out of his fighting stance and rolls his shoulders back. He grounds himself, bracing for the oncoming storm. The bid was accepted and so now Alec’s course is set. There’s no going back. He takes just a few seconds to let the reality of it sink into his bones.

“They said yes…” Jace breathes, astounded, seraph blade dropping.

Clary, out of the loop, glances between them all.

“Accepted what? What’s going on?!” she asks.

Alec ignores Jace and Clary for now, answering his mother.

“Because I submitted myself for the trial,” Alec says, clear, not to be misheard.

“ _Why?”_

Her eyes are searching, almost desperate. Her hands are stilling, though.

“Because this is the way I can restore the Lightwood name,” Alec says simply. “Like you wanted.”

It’s barbed, pointed, and it shakes Maryse out of her shock.

“You can’t do this. It’s madness,” Maryse says, paper crumpling in her hand. “It isn’t _done_ … _!”_

“Well… clearly the Clave disagrees. I guess they’re open to the idea,” Alec says, voice even.

Maryse’s moment of weakness passes, and he can see the lioness rising in her. The snarling queen. Alec once read a book on lions. Sons are eventually driven from the pride, a fact Alec is finding more and more relevant recently.

“There’s more at _stake_ here. Since Valentine, the Clave has been looking for an example, a champion. They’re desperate to encourage true loyalty,” Maryse rushes to say.

“Well… looks like they’ve found their poster child…” Alec replies, watching her closely. Jace might still have hopes for Maryse, but Alec has no expectations, not anymore. Still, he has to give her the chance. “Will you stop me?”

It changes Maryse, brings ice over her.

“You’re bluffing. You won’t go through with it,” Maryse says, growing defensive in her denial, in her rage at being forced into a corner.

“This will bring honor to our family again, as I promised you. So I’ll do it,” Alec tells her, holding her gaze. “It’s my choice.”

“ _Alec!”_ she hisses.

Alec isn’t sure what’s going on in Jace’s head. His shoulders curled in on himself like a nervous circus animal facing a whip, unsure if it’s about to turn on its trainer. Clary just looks dumbfounded. But if the fire message has come through, the clock is ticking. It’s only a crazy stroke of luck that had Isabelle out on a run instead of training with them. Alec doesn’t expect fortune like that again.

He doesn’t have time to go to war with his mother. The gauntlet has been thrown, and now he has to go rally his own troops.

“When do I have to be in Idris,” Alec presses.

Maryse grits her teeth, picking a side. Alec knows she still thinks he’s bluffing, but it doesn’t really matter.

“Two days. The ritual takes place when the sun is highest in the sky,” she says.

“Great,” Alec says and turns away.

Jace and Clary are hot on his heels as they rush down a mostly abandoned hallway.

“Okay, what the _hell_ was all that?” Clary asks, her hair springy and bouncing behind her. “What the hell is _Irak-Ta?!”_

Jace’s jaw is set, his movements panther-like.

“It’s an ancient Shadowhunter ritual. Disgraced warriors could submit themselves to Irak-Ta to show their devotion to the Clave - earn their honor back,” Jace grits out.

“Okay? So why is everyone freaking out?”

The halls are dark this far back in the Institute. Their footsteps are loud, but Jace’s response rings louder.

“Because Irak-Ta is basically public torture.”

Clary says nothing, shocked, but Alec knows her, knows if he gives her room she’s going to get into her righteous mode and become another problem instead of an ally. And he needs her.

“Look, we don’t have time to explain everything. This is _my_ choice,” Alec says.

“So was proposing to Lydia…” Jace mutters.

Completely unhelpful.

“Shut up, Jace. This is different,” Alec snaps. “Like Maryse said, there’s more at play here, on my side, too… but Izzy and Magnus aren’t going to understand. We have to get to them before the words spreads. If not, this could very well end with both of them executed.”

Alec is deadly serious. They will not pay for Alec’s choices, of that he’s determined. No matter the cost.

They reach Alec’s destination: the stairs to the northern basement. He stops and turns on Jace and Clary. Alec digs into his pocket for the papers he’s been carrying since he sent his bid to Idris.

The first is a message to Clorophia. He sends it off with a quick flourish of his stele. She knows it’s coming. The other he hands to Clary.

“Look, I know you want a better explanation and I know you’ve never been a fan of how the Clave operates, but I need your help,” Alec says. “And I need you to trust me. Jace can explain everything later.”

Alec meets her searching eyes, and he knows what she’s looking for. He isn’t used to opening himself up, but he lets her see what this means to him. After all this time, she’s his student... his friend, and he hopes it means something. Finally, she nods.

“Okay,” she says, and Alec presses the list into her hand.

Her heels click as she rushes down the hallway. Just Alec and Jace are left in the dark corner.

“We can’t let her anywhere near Izzy unsupervised,” Alec says, watching her go. “Four minutes alone and Izzy’ll have her bleeding heart marching on Idris.”

Jace elbows him lightly.

“Hey watch it. That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about,” Jace says, voice momentarily lightening, just a fraction.

“Yeah, well, all the more reason to make sure she doesn’t join the other team,” Alec says, dry humor in his words.

“And what about yours?” Jace asks, coming to stand beside Alec, eyes softening under his hard brow.

Alec sighs, staring down the hallway, taking one minute to breathe, to mentally prepare himself for what hast to be done here, _tonight_.

“What do you think all this is about?” Alec murmurs. “If our places were reversed… no matter the reason, I don’t think I would be able to stand by and let Magnus do what I’m going to do… I can’t risk giving Magnus that choice. And I won’t force him to make it. This is my burden to bear.”

“And apparently mine,” Jace chuckles, leaning a shoulder into Alec.

Alec snorts.

“Yeah well… our lives kinda suck. Haven’t you figured that out yet…?”

“Oh… I know. I _know_.”

The corner of Alec’s lip twitches and he hears the whooshing sound of a portal from the basement below.

“Yeah… well, if it makes you feel any better… I am trying to change that.”

 

When Magnus gets Alec’s call about meeting in the north basement to examine an artifact they recovered from a demon, at the worst he assumes it’s to avoid Maryse. The request _is_ rather odd, as they usually meet in one of the much more common spaces. In the very back of Magnus’ mind he even starts to wonder if Alec has a surprise planned for him. His birthday is coming up after all.

He definitely doesn’t suspect anything like what awaits him at the bottom of the stairs.

Magnus has never been down into the north basement, so instead he portals into a nearby corridor, where Alec once dragged him to make out after a particularly successful mission. He slips through the doorway and carefully descends the dimly lit stairs. He pauses in confusion as he reaches the last step, finding that the lights don’t continue from the stairwell. His brow furrows.

“Alec?” he calls, but there’s no response.

He takes a few steps into the room, and thinks about illuminating it with magic, but what if Alec does have a surprise for him? He wouldn’t want to ruin it.

“Hello?” he calls again.

He begins to move forward, squinting into the gloom. He’s just about to call once more, when there’s a muffled thump, followed by a grunted _fuck_.

“ _Magnus, watch out!”_

Isabelle. Magnus spins, calling on his magic.

“ _Do it now!”_ an even more familiar voice shouts and lights flare around him.

Magnus takes in many things at once. He sees Jace, teeth gritted in pain with one arm around the waist of a struggling Isabelle. Her makeup is smudged, and she’s doing everything in her power to escape the grip of her adoptive brother. It doesn’t make any sense.

Then the chanting begins, and Magnus’ head snaps around. He’s dazed and yet the next images only serve to confuse him further. Clorophia stands a few yards away, chanting rapidly as her magic swells to fill the room. She’s not alone. The Vampire stands to her left, a hand on her bare shoulder, an expression of grim unease on his face--but Magnus only sees the face of the man to her right.

Alec stands beside her, eyes painfully determined, and Magnus just doesn’t understand. A wind blows upwards, buffeting him, and Magnus looks down to see that he stands on an ocean of color. Clarissa kneels before Clorophia, hands covered in chalk at the head of the mural, retracing a triangular shape over and over.

“ _NO!”_ Isabelle yells reaching out with arms covered in sharp lines as Clorophia slams her hands together.

Simon closes his eyes and Alec grits his teeth, and Magnus knows Clorophia is drawing on their power. Why, though, why?

Even though he has all the information he needs, it still doesn’t sink in until the power crashes over him. It crawls up his legs, whips around his body, bites down hard on his wrists. Straight lines in white, black, and gold shatter out over his skin, forming hundreds of geometric shackles.

Magnus has been bound.

The realization is distant, abstract in nature. Unfathomable.

“No…” Isabelle repeats, but in defeat this time, collapsing back into Jace.

The supernatural wind is dying down, and Magnus’ arms feel heavy. He presses against the bonds, only to find them wholly ironclad. It’s a _triviniculum_ , a bind drawing upon the blood of three species. Magnus can’t break it, he realises with a sort of distant shock.

Clorophia staggers back, and Simon steadies her. Magnus stands in the middle of the mural, slack, head blank for the first time perhaps since Camille betrayed him. He looks to Alec for an explanation, because he doesn't even know what question to ask.

“I’m sorry,” are the first words out of Alec’s mouth.

“For what?” Magnus finds himself asking, a cold settling over his body.

He’s never felt quite so small. It’s not a familiar feeling for a creature of his power, yet he could be a mouse before a lion in this moment.

“I wouldn’t have done this if there was any other way,” Alec says, looking like he wants to come forward but is afraid.

Magnus wants Alec’s arms around him. He doesn’t understand.

“What’s going on? What did you do to me?” Magnus asks, staring down at the mural as if it might hold answers.

“The spell isn’t permanent. It just prevents you from doing anything that would interfere with the ritual of Irak-Ta,” Alec’s face crumples a bit. “I undergo the trial the day after tomorrow.”

Magnus raises his head, starting to get an even worse feeling about this.

“What trial?” Magnus asks. “What is Irak-Ta?”

Why hasn’t he heard of this before? How hasn’t he? Alec seems to sense his thoughts.

“It’s very ancient, and back then the Clave kept their doors even more tightly shut…” Alec explains. He goes on, “It’s a redemption ritual. If a warrior found themselves disgraced, if they betrayed the Clave, they could request Irak-Ta to redeem themselves.”

Magnus shakes his head.

“But why would you need to bind me… I don’t…”

Jace cusses again as Isabelle slams a fist against his chest.

“Because it’s _barbaric!”_ she shouts, eyes wet.

“ _Izzy,”_ Alec tries to cut in but she doesn’t let him.

“ _No,_ Alec! If you’re going to _martyr_ yourself in front of the whole Clave then you don’t get to ignore it! You don’t get to _pretend,_ ” she hisses at him as Jace holds her wrists, clearly still afraid she’s going to hit him again as she lurches in his grip. Her desperate eyes turn to Magnus, holding his gaze which begs only for answers. He’s never seen Isabelle look this way before. “On the day after tomorrow, when the sun is highest in the sky, Shadowhunters will come from all over to fill the Visusomne in Idris. At the very center of the ring, they’ll plant two posts where Alec will be bound on his knees. The Silent Brothers will bathe him in purifying oils; they’ll cover his body in runes. Some of them are meant to keep him awake, present in his body. Most are runes of pain. Finally they’ll draw the Irak-Ta on his back. And everyone will watch as the other runes are activated, over and over, unable to be stopped until the Irak-Ta deactivates itself.

“We’ll be made to watch as Alec endures every sort of agony imaginable on this earth, until the trial is over, or he dies.”

Clary’s hand is clasped over her mouth and Simon is staring sightlessly at the ground. Jace’s nostrils are flared, teeth gritted, and even Clorophia looks a little nauseous.

Magnus is just… stunned.

And Alec won’t meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“You can’t…” Magnus begins, voice barely a breath.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Alec repeats and takes a sharp inhale, one hand closed into a fist. “I’ll… I can’t stay. I’m sorry. Jace, take Izzy to her room and stay with her. I need to contact Lydia, and pull whatever small favors I have gathered over the years together to make sure Max is kept at the Mumbai Institute.”

The words wash over Magnus like salt water, a bit too light, unsubstantial. He blinks, trying to clear away the horror show he just can’t quite wrap his head around. Jace scoops Isabelle up into his arms, and apparently she’s given up hitting him for now, allowing herself to be held like a child, his arm under her knees and her arms around his neck. Tears have started streaming down her face again.

Magnus’ eyes won’t leave the ground. He hears Alec stop behind him.

“I’m… I love you. You probably hate me right now, and that’s fair, but I really… I love you and I hope you can forgive me for this one day.”

The words barely register as Alec moves away, up the stairs, and it’s like his presence was the only thing holding Magnus upright. His knees buckle.

A number of voices call out to him but he curls his shoulders forward and wraps his arms around his own body, head bowed and back arched like a defensive animal. It’s what he feels like after all.

Someone reaches for him, but Magnus only curls further inwards.

“Don’t touch me…” he whispers, flinching away. “Don’t.”

 

Alec reaches Magnus’ block as the sun is setting. Clorophia is sitting on the steps of the building, apparently talking to the rose bushes, when Alec approaches.

“Why aren’t you with Magnus?” Alec asks, worried and exhausted.

He ensured that Max wouldn’t travel to Idris, wouldn’t witness the trial. It hadn’t been easy to do while hiding that weak spot from Maryse. Robert was also due back any time, and Alec made sure to slip from the Institute before that wave reached shore.

“He’s not speaking to me. Won’t hear a word I have to say. He’s currently throwing a most epic tantrum,” Clorophia explains, opening her palm to show Alec a transparent image of the building.

Magnus’ floor literally pulses with fire, an even angrier light glowing at the center.

“I’ll talk to him,” Alec says tiredly, glancing up at the building before looking back at Clorophia. “You’ll stay with him? During?”

Clorophia stands straighter.

“Of course, Lightwood. I’ll be back,” she assures him. Then she turns to face him, eye to eye. “You have not always been considered decent in my eyes--but I believe your love for Magnus is both real and deep, now more than ever. And what you’re doing… it’s more brave and important than you realize.”

Alec just nods, feeling as if his bones are made of stone. Clorophia continues as Alec begins to walk up the worn steps of Magnus’ brownstone.

“I do look forward to you fulfilling your end of our accord,” she says, genuine.

“Only if he wants it. Those were the conditions,” Alec says.

Clorophia laughs softly.

“You’re humble, but you should know your worth in his eyes,” she says and then quiets. “Which reminds me… do not die, Shadowhunter. I’m not sure he’d survive that.”

Alec shuts his eyes for a moment, then he keeps moving.

 

Alec thought the fire in Clorophia’s image had been a sort of representation. It was not. The entire loft is scorched black when Alec enters. He sighs heavily as he picks his way through the rubble.

He finds Magnus in the ruins of the living room. The only substantial clothing he’s wearing is a pair of black harem pants. His hair is highlighted red and necklaces hang from his neck, one thin chain dripping down his exposed back. Even though he’s turned away, Alec can see the way he holds his arms out slightly in front of him, where the binding spell exists in its most visible form, like tattoos in gold, white, and black, fading as they climb towards his shoulders, thickest near the wrists.

Alec knows Magnus is truly furious, but in this moment of his own weakness, Alec’s heart pounds happily at the sight before him - at everything Magnus is, drama and rage included. God, Alec never thought he’d have a love like this, one so all consuming that he’d even find anger beautiful.

“What happened?” Alec asks.

Magnus doesn’t jump, doesn’t look at him. He knew Alec was coming. The Shadowhunter’s lips twitch, just a little, in love with Magnus’ theatrics, too.

Magnus holds one arm higher, inspecting the shapes on his forearm.

“I tried to send fire messages to some friends who haven’t betrayed me. They rebounded,” Magnus says, lowering his arms.

“Well… were you asking them to stop the trial? Because then yeah… they wouldn’t go through,” Alec says. “I still don’t understand why the apartment is burned to a crisp.”

“The backfire hit a rug. I went with it,” Magnus says.

It’s clear the flames were magic. Alec already notices a few items of supernatural or sentimental value that have remained unburned, and all other floors of the building seemed fine.

“I can see that…”

Finally Magnus looks at Alec, glaring over his shoulder. He looks imperious, powerful… accusing. More weights settle on Alec’s shoulders.

“I honestly started to believe that it wouldn’t be the Clave that I’d lose you to,” Magnus says. “After all they’ve done, to downworlders, to their own people, to _you_ …”

It stings. It hurts that Magnus can even believe what he’s saying--but that’s exactly how Alec crafted this scenario. He can’t blame Magnus for reading the words that Alec put on the page.

“Magnus, I promise it’s not like that,” Alec tries. “And you’re not going to lose me.”

The warlock turns towards him, anger falling momentarily away.

“I summoned the histories. The trial… people died. They go mad more often than not, Alexander,” Magnus says.

Alec really wishes he hadn’t found the information. He’d be happier in ignorance. Alec could admit none of the readings would be comforting.

“It’s not going to happen,” Alec says.

He won’t let it. Magnus’ eyes close for a moment.

“You can’t know that,” he says. “And my original query still stands. After everything the Clave has done, how can you lay your life before them?”

Magnus looks miserable and Alec takes involuntary steps into his space. He looks down at Magnus, who doesn’t back down. His spine is slightly bent back and his jaw is raised to hold Alec’s eyes.

“It’s not what you think,” Alec says, whisper-rough.

“Then what is it, Alexander? _Why?”_

The words almost stick in his throat, the first time he’s said them to anyone he loves. Not even Jace knows what Alec hasn’t been able to say.

“Magnus, I… nothing is set in stone but if - if they go through with this… I’m leaving the Clave,” Alec confesses and Magnus’ eyes go wide. “I had to give them, my parents, the Clave, one last chance to… I don’t even know.”

Alec scrubs his hand through his hair.

“You want them to prove themselves,” Magnus says, suddenly understanding.

Alec shrugs. He’s not even totally sure himself.

“Nothing is the way I thought it was going to be. The Clave, the downworld, being a Shadowhunter, everything they taught me… it’s not…”

Magnus doesn’t look much comforted. His eyes are still saturated with pain.

“So Isabelle was right… you are martyring yourself.”

He turns away, rolling his hands in a spherical motion before throwing them sideways. Magic blooms out and the destruction around them disappears as if it had never been. Magnus walks towards the windows.

“It’s not going to be like that. If they go through with the trial, I’ll survive and then I’ll leave,” Alec says.

“And where are you planning on going? I’m sure the Clave isn’t going to let you take your runes and go,” Magnus says, leaning against a bookshelf and looking out over the city.

“It’s not like I’ve made no plans… I’ve spoken to Raphael, Clorophia, and even Meliorne. I have allies in the downworld… don’t I?” Alec says it with a hesitant smile. He sees Magnus sigh. “I mean… I have connections to the High Warlock of Brooklyn. Gotta be worth something.”

Magnus glares at him reproachfully.

“I know I should have talked to you about it first… but there was no way to do it without you trying to stop the ritual,” Alec says, serious again. “I know it’s not fair to force your hand. I’m not your responsibility--”

Magnus sighs even louder and rolls his eyes.

“I’m not just going to hand you over to the Clave, Alexander,” Magnus says, drawing circles into his temple. “Don’t be ridiculous…”

He summons himself a drink in a delicate martini glass and downs nearly the whole thing in one go.

Alec drops heavily heavily to the sofa. He momentarily lets his head rest in his hands. There’s really  nothing he can say to make Magnus okay with what he’s done, he knows that. He can only hope Magnus will forgive him when it’s all said and done.

“Do you want me to leave?” Alec asks.

Magnus’ voice is closer than he expects when he speaks.

“Why did you come here tonight? Is it my blessing you’re after, my love? Because you won’t have it,” Magnus says.

He tilts Alec’s face upwards, Magnus’ fingers under his chin, eyes sad and searching.

“I know,” Alec says, voice raw. “I just… I didn’t want to be without you tonight. I know it’s not fair but but I didn’t.”

He knows the ritual is his own choice. He isn’t scared.

But it doesn’t mean that he wants to sleep alone.

 

In the dark Magnus can almost pretend it’s any other night. In the dark he can’t see the binding lines on his arms or the stony resolve in Alec’s eyes. Even in the relatively short number of years he’s been able to call Alec his, this has become painfully familiar.

Alec’s breath on his shoulder.

An arm around his waist.

The _thump-thump_ of a heartbeat against his back.

Alec pulls him even closer, and Magnus can feel that he’s far from sleep.

 _Don’t make me let you hurt,_ Magnus wants to say. _Don’t let them hurt you_.

Alec’s always been an exposed nerve, offering himself up to be burned over and over. He feels Alec’s lips on the knob of his spine.

“I don’t want you to be one of my sad stories,” Magnus whispers into the shadows, eyes burning as he fights for the air in his lungs. “Please…”

“I won’t be… I don’t want to just be a memory to you either,” Alec says. “I won’t.”

 _You will_ , Magnus thinks. Even if the story doesn’t end here, there’s no stopping the passage of time. He doesn’t correct Alec, though. He lets himself take Alec’s words and tuck them into his heart.

It’s just enough to let himself fall asleep.

 

When he wakes, Magnus is alone in the dark. He buries his wet face in his hands and lets fire consume everything all over again.

 

Alec arrives at the Institute a hours before daybreak. He couldn’t bring himself to wake Magnus before he slipped from their bed. The look on his face during a goodbye might just be enough to make Alec think about staying, and he can’t risk that.

He makes it back to his room at the Institute without running into anyone. It’s a little surprising, considering he knows that somewhere preparations are being made to open a portal to Idris. The time is ticking down quickly, and Alec feels intense relief to have a few minutes alone. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed and breathes, in and out, slow and steady.

His childhood room feels odd to him these days. He doesn’t sleep here except on the rarest of occasions,  and mostly uses it as a closet and changing room for his mission and training clothes. Most of the things he cares about have migrated to Magnus’ loft, and so his old room has become a time capsule of someone from Alec’s past, sitting around him like a skin that doesn’t quite fit anymore.

He’s not sure if anything at the Institute quite fits him anymore.

Alec isn’t sure how long he sits, but too much time can’t have passed before there’s a soft knock at the door. He looks up but doesn’t change his posture.

“Come in,” he says, already expecting Jace’s face as the door opens.

He closes it behind him, but doesn’t come more than a few steps into the room.

“Is it time?” Alec asks.

Jace is silent as he nods, eyes filled with all the things they’ve never had to say aloud for the other to hear. Alec stands.

“You don’t have to do this. You can still take it back,” Jace says, and Alec huffs. He’d love to see the Clave’s reaction to _that_. “Or we could just leave. Fuck this place. Fuck the Clave. We could just _go_.”

It’s tempting, but Alec still has questions that he needs answered. He stops in front of Jace, who’s face twists in frustration as he reads Alec’s wordless response.

“ _God,_ you’re the fucking _worst_ you know that?” he says and then he’s pulling Alec towards him roughly.

Alec grips Jace back, hugging hard enough to bruise each other.

“I don’t know exactly how our bond is going to play into all of this. Use numbing and dampening runes if anything comes through, alright?” Alec says.

He feels Jace’s chin dig into his shoulder.

“Go fuck yourself,” he replies.

 

Clorophia finds Magnus by his window. He’s been waiting for her, counting each car below, tracing the skyscrapers on the horizon as the sky turns from black to a dusky indigo, still hours from dawn. He remembers when New York was nothing but mud and squalor, and now a kingdom of his own making rolls out before him, sparking with life and love and light.

And for the first time since Magnus arrived here it barely means a thing to him.

“Why did you help Alec?” he asks Clorophia as she comes to stand beside him. “I was understandably distracted by other matters yesterday… my lover’s betrayal, his impending barbaric torture, but now that I’ve had a minute, I cannot help but ponder why you, my longtime friend, who openly distrusts Shadowhunters and has made it known on multiple occasions what she thinks of my relationship with one, _help_ him bind me?”

Clorophia raises a brow at him. She opens her palm and a green light begins to faintly glow there.

“It’s not so complicated, Magnus. I didn’t want you hurt and it’s time the Clave exposed themselves for what they really are,” Clorophia says and and a rose blooms in her hand.

It’s bright red, surrounded by emerald leaves. They curl this way, then that, and then are overtaken by thorns. They spike out, overwhelming everything else. The whole plant withers and turns to dust.

Magnus narrows his eyes, arms crossed over his chest. He wears an ornate, sleeveless garment he’d purchased in China, refusing to cover his bonds.

“No… you’d never do something so aggressive to an acquaintance let alone me. Not even to spite the Clave… not for free,” Magnus presses.

“Do you think perhaps that it being _you_ had everything to do with it?” Clorophia posits.

Magnus studies her, confused, angry, and tired. There’s something hidden behind her eyes, a level of excitement that in no way indicates a hard bargain was made. Clorophia was all too happy to help. It can only mean she got something very big from the deal. Magnus _knows_ her.

“Stop lying. You _didn’t_ do this for free. What did he pay you, Clorophia?” Magnus grits out.

“Nothing… yet,” Clorophia finally says. “It’s an IOU of sorts.”

“ _What does he owe you?”_ Magnus says, growing worried.

Clorophia comes to him, cups his cheek in her thin hand.

“My friend, it is nothing for you to be concerned about. Nothing that will cause him nor you any further harm. Plus, part of the deal involved my silence. You’ll have to ask the Lightwood boy what exactly it was that he promised me,” Clorophia says and Magnus does his best not to summon more fire.

 

 

Idris is quiet under a climbing sun. It’s not a quiet born of peace, but instead the lull brought on by thousands of voices hushed low. Dignitaries pour in through various portals and locals titter as the temperature in the city rises.

A horde of council members move slowly through the streets towards waiting parlors. _It’s about time_ , they whisper. _Resurrect the Time of Angels…_

Children are uneasy, deciding to play inside, weary of the number of unfamiliar faces on the roads. It doesn’t feel like a festival, and there’s no real fun to be had. _Come away_ , their parents say, ushering them back indoors.

The Visusomne juts up from the oldest center of the city. The sun peeks over its high walls like a ruby crown, washing it red. Silent Brothers already wait at its heart, checking binding posts, gathering oils, sharpening steles. Already people have begun to fill the rows and rows of seats in the belly of the massive amphitheater.

A pair of old women watch flags rising on its lips, the lines in their faces growing deeper. Their skins are blackened and scarred with runes. Weak Shadowhunters, like tigers, rarely reach old age.

Sharp eyes skate over the horizon, judging.

 _Of all the ways to fall,_ one murmurs.

The cavalcade from the New York Institute is barely contained chaos as they pass through the portal, but then so is the whole city. The only true calm is at the very center of it all.

Alec Lightwood moves steadily, sure as a panther. Silent Brothers wait for him, and he doesn’t flinch away. A few words are spared for his parabatai, a nod is shared with his student, and he presses a kiss to the forehead of his weeping sister.

“I’m sorry,” Alec whispers to her.

His father won’t meet his eyes and his mother won’t look away when when the Silent Brothers take him.

 

“I’m going to Idris.”

“What?” Clorophia asks from where she’s taken up residence on the fainting chair in the corner of the living room.

Magnus hasn’t moved in the past hour and the growing light is burning into him. He turns away from the window, already pulling magic to him.

“You can’t. You can’t stop this, Magnus,” Clorophia says, rising.

Magnus is painfully aware of that. His magic fights him as he tries to open a passageway. Every time his brain even entertains a hope of stopping the ritual his magic slams into iron walls.

“I know. I cannot interfere. But there’s nothing preventing me from witnessing,” Magnus says.

He tries to open a portal into the stands and fails. Apparently anyone seeing him might count as interference. He wants to open one in the underbelly of the Visusomne, but he’s never been.

“Why are you doing this?” Clorophia asks, brow knitted. “It will only cause you more pain. _Stop_.”

“ _No_ ,” Magnus says, raising a hand at her in warning when she moves towards him. “This will not be a memory born by only one between us.”

Magnus clears his mind as much as he possibly can, and pictures the lips of the Visusomne, high above the stands and the field. His magic pulses and a portal bursts forth. He’s moving before any other thoughts that might cause the portal to shut down pass though his head.

“ _Magnus!”_

 

The chambers beneath the Visusomne are dark and resonate with ancient strife. The stone walls are lit by enchanted torches, casting shadows over Alec’s bare skin. He grits his teeth as eyeless monks wash his skin with silky rags. The smell of rosewater isn’t enough to overpower the smell of musky earth and bloodied iron.

Instead of dwelling on the discomfort of his current situation, Alec takes this last quiet moment to think about the one he had to leave behind. He thinks about the way Magnus smiles at him over shared deserts in hidden bakeries in Brooklyn. He thinks about how easy his breath had come in a market in London as Magnus bemoaned his inability to tell the difference between various wines.

He stops feeling the unwanted touches to his skin when he thinks about the flat in Paris, where he’d immediately recognized the taste of Grenache on Magnus’ lips.

**_You are prepared._ **

 The voice blooms directly in his mind, shattering the memory and leaving Alec feeling cold. His lips press together and he lowers his arms back to his sides. They wrap a deep red red cloth around his waist, and pin it securely. It’s the only garment he’ll wear.

**_Come. It is time._ **

 

The wind atop the Visusomne is soft but buffeting. Magnus hears Clorophia land beside him.  Magnus curses as his feet are rooted in place. He sees the crowds and he sees the posts, and he cannot help the desperate thoughts that overtake his mind.

The lines on his arms feel like they tighten, and Magnus knows he won’t be able to move until this is over.

“No…” he murmurs.

“Let me take you back to New York,” Clorophia presses.

“ _No!”_ Magnus snarls as his eyes begin to glass over.

Massive doors beneath the aristocrats’ balcony open wide, and even so far away Magnus knows it’s Alec walking out onto the dusty stage, flanked by four silent brothers. More follow in their wake.

“Alexander…”

The first tear falls as Alec reaches the center of the Visusomne and is forced to his knees.

 

Runes of protection are drawn first, quickly covered by shackles. Then the real drawing begins, subtle burning lines blooming all over Alec’s body. He grits his teeth and looks up at the center balcony where the Clave’s highest ranking members watch with cold faces. He doesn’t let this discomfort show on his face. He knows there’s a lot worse to come and so he holds his pride like an anchor.

The next balcony over holds his family. His father still won’t look at him and Alec tries to let it go. Alec ignores his mother. She’s had her chances, over and over again.

Alec’s muscles twitch as runes sink into his skin.

More Silent Brothers are tracing large runes on pillars that mark the edges of the field. It’ll allow everyone to hear what’s happening, see it clearer. Alec’s teeth grind.

 ** _It is now time for the ritual to begin_** **,** one Brother says, voice resonating throughout the Visusonmne.

Alec takes deep, measured breaths as a mutilated Shadowhunter comes to stand behind him. The sun is full and burning above them, and sweat drops fall from Alec’s skin, turning the ochre dust beneath him black.

His heart races, but he doesn’t struggle. His head tips back, eyes to the sky.

Alec stops hearing the opening words of the ritual when he notices the specks atop the amphitheater. The stele touches the skin between his shoulder blades - and somehow Alec knows. The rune over his heart throbs.

“I’m sorry,” he shapes with his lips, letting no sound escape.

It’s not for the crowds.

“Magnus…”

Then, with a final burning flourish, the Irak-Ta is completed. His whole body pulses once, twice, and then Alec’s screaming.

He is consumed.

 

Jace gasps wildly and clutches at his side. The pain, felt like a shadow, only seen through a keyhole, is staggering.

“Jace?!”

Clary’s by his side but he waves her off, bracing himself against the stone wall.

“ _Alec!”_ he shouts on instinct, and it’s like it breaks the last spell on Isabelle as well.

Though, perhaps the binding has released her.

There’s nothing they can do now. One of the other Shadowhunters from the New York Institute only just stops her from trying to vault onto the field as she openly breaks down.

“ _Alec, NO! BROTHER!”_

Thousands of eyes are cast down to where Alec Lightwood writhes against his chains and scream after scream explodes from his lungs.

 

It’s like fire. It’s like fire and knives and teeth and poison in his veins all at once.

Time ceases to have meaning. Alec’s sight leaves him, as does his perception of anything beyond the pain in his body.

It doesn’t end.

 

Somehow, Magnus’ knees have hit the ground, too. His face is wet and his eyes burn but he can’t look away. The magic of the Visusomne ensures that Magnus has no trouble hearing Alec’s screaming. His voice grows and swells and breaks over and over again. He sobs and fights against the chains.

It’s no use. The chains have him held fast. The runes keep him present. There’s no escape for him.

“Stop…” Magnus breathes. “Please, stop…”

Magnus repeats it over and over, like a child afraid of the dark. He covers his ears with his hands, curling in on himself. His body shakes as Alec’s torture overwhelms him. There’s quiet only long enough for Alec to draw breath back into his body.

Then the pain explodes from him once more, screams burrowing into Magnus’ very soul.

“ _Please…_ ”

 

The agony pushes Alec beyond words. He cannot beg for help. He can’t call for the sweet embrace of death.

All he can do is scream, every breath leaving him as violently as the magic that is attacking him over and over again.

Sometimes the burning feeling fades.

But then comes the gnawing fangs on his very bones.

 

Jace sits with his back up against the wall of their balcony. He doesn’t need to see to know what’s happening. He can feel it, feel his parabatai in the throes of anguish. He tugs at his hair.

“It was never about honor… you know that, right?” Jace finally says, twenty minutes after the Irak-Ta was drawn.

“What?” Maryse asks, looking away from Alec for the first time.

Jace tips his head back, hair a mess, face pale. A strange calm has come over him, though.

“It wasn’t about the family name. You think Alec cares about our damn family name anymore? He cares about the ones he loves. He cares about keeping everyone safe. Honor? It’s dogshit. He wanted to know what _you_ thought of honor. Now he knows,” Jace says.

“This was his choice he’s--”

“You’ve failed him. You failed him the second you let him walk through that portal. No… I’m no expert on good parenting,” Jace says, pushing himself back up to his feet and coming back to the edge of the balcony. He scowls as Alec makes another attempt at ripping chains from stone, perhaps to claw his own skin off. “But look at where you’ve led your son.”

Maryse’s mouth is open but no words come out. Jace continues before she can even get her wits about her. The red cloth around Alec’s waist is dark with sweat, desaturated with dust.

“Look around you,” he demands and she looks, sees Isabelle sobbing in Clary’s arms. If Maryse doesn’t realize that this pain will turn to ice in her daughter’s chest, than she is more a fool than Jace ever realized. “You cannot even fathom what her brother means to her. She loves him more than anyone in the world.”

“I… I _didn’t_ \--”

“He is my parabatai.”

Jace doesn’t need to say any more than that.

Jace goes silent as Maryse slowly begins to realize that today, three of her children are lost to her.

 

Alec takes it back. Time does have meaning. Infinite second tick away like ants chewing on each of his individual cells. One agony rolls into another. From organ squeezing aches that leave him moaning and crying, to puncture wounds that leave him screaming and fighting for his perceived life.

 _Let me die,_ he thinks. _Someone kill me. Please, by the Angel, someone kill me. Let me die._

 _You can’t. You can’t you can’t you can’t. Youcan’tyoucan’tyoucan’tyoucan’t,_ something else screams back at him. _You can’t leave them. You promised. You can’t leave him. You promised. You can’t._

The fire returns.

 

“I’ll never forgive them for this.”

“No… no,” is all Clorophia seems to have to say on the matter, eyes hardened with fury and judgement.

Magnus clutches his own body and begs for the whole world to turn faster, for this to end. The power to stop this horror burns inside his chest, but the bonds keeps him rooted, unmoving and utterly and completely helpless.

The anger at Alec is gone. Somewhere in the back of his head he understands - because if he was unbound, Alec wouldn’t be wrong. He would bring war on the downworld. He would rain fire down upon the Clave. Probably end up dead in the process.

But not before pulling the air from the lungs of anyone responsible for this atrocity.

 

The Silent Brothers commentate as Alec moves through various agonies. Once upon a time, the crowd probably cheered at the completion of each wave. The Shadowhunters here though, do not cheer. There is a few traditionalists clapping at the end of the first wave, but stares quickly silence them.

Even those in favor watch with grim satisfaction.

There is no audible noise over Alec Lightwood’s screaming.

There are whispers under it though. More than a few people leave.

And the minutes tick by slowly.

 

Alec loses sight of himself. He doesn’t remember his own name for a while. He doesn’t know where he’s from or who he is. The only thing he can see beyond the pain is a pair of cat eyes. He doesn’t know what they mean but they won’t let him die.

Eventually the waves stop subsiding, but instead begin to build on top of each other. Each rune on his body activating all at once.

Only the runes of protection stop Alec from screaming himself bloody and breaking his own bones trying to escape.

Another wave falls.

_Please... let me die…_

_No,_ say dark eyes surrounded by purple galaxies.

 

It ends as suddenly as it begins. A scream cuts out and Alec goes totally limp. A shocked silence is followed by the sounds of muttering and movement. Then chaos descends.

“ _Alec!”_

_“ALEC!”_

Feet hit the red earth as Jace, Isabelle, and Clary vault into the belly of the Visusomne, ignoring any calls towards them. Medics and other figures begin to move onto the field as well.

Before anyone reaches Alec there’s a blast of wind and Magnus is there, arms bare and hands glowing blue as the shackles explode off Alec’s wrists.

 

Magnus’ knees dig into the dirt as he guides them to the ground, Alec cradled to his body.

“Alec? Alexander. _Alec_ ,” he babbles, one free hand tilting his head up. “Please, _please._ ”

He’s alive, Magnus realizes, reaching out with his magic. He’s _alive_.

Alec’s eyes flutter open and he curls into Magnus. His eyes lock with the Warlock’s. There’s a flurry of activity around them, but Magnus doesn’t notice any of it.

“Magnus?”

“Yes. _Yes,_ gazelle. It’s me. I’m here. I’m here,” Magnus says, wiping at the involuntary tear tracks on Alec’s face.

Alec is shaking but there’s an odd level of focus in his eyes.

“ _Magnus_ …  I have to ask you something,” he says.

More people are gathering around them and familiar voices are barking, but nobody has touched them yet. For all the consideration Magnus gives everyone else, they’re alone.

“There will be time for all of that later. You’re hurt. Let’s get you--”

Alec shakes his head.

“No. When I was under, I couldn’t stop - Magnus, I just… if I - would you want to be with me forever? If i wasn’t going to die, would you want that? Us?”

Magnus is baffled but the words ground him into the moment.

“Alexander. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t wish for that. Never doubt that. I would happily be with you until this whole planet turned to dust. I’ll never… if I could chose, it would be you.”

It all comes out in a rush, the moment removing any filters left inside Magnus, and Alec blinks up at him, eyes searching.

“Don’t touch him! Give it to me,” Isabelle says nearby, and then she’s there with a healing kit. Her hands flutter over her brother. “Oh my god… you’re okay. You _stupid…_ ”

She keeps mumbling but Alec just keeps staring up at Magnus.

“Good… good…” he breathes, relaxing even further into the Warlock’s body.

Ever unbothered, the Silent Brothers pay no mind to the minor chaos that has descended on the field. One walks out towards the stands, arms spreading out.

**_The Shadowhunter has survived the Irak-Ta. Glory be the name of Alec Lightwood. His sins are forgiven. His honor is restored._ **

The words are ancient, and feel out of place as they boom through the crowds. Something unnamable sparks in the air as Isabelle, Jace, Clary, Alec, and Magnus crouch in the center of the Visusomne like a pack of angry wolves. Their eyes are furious, burning into the faces of the council members. Isabelle glares as she leans over her brother.

“And with it you’ve forfeited yours...”

It’s loud enough that the magic carries it to every ear.

 

-

 

“Well, there aren’t armies at the door… so that’s something,” Simon said from where he bounces on his toes nervously by the window.

Alec isn’t totally sure why Raphael brought him, but he’s still far too exhausted to complain. For now he’s happy to lean back against Magnus’ chest and half heartedly think about making more long term plans. He wonders if he should leave the city for a while.

“I’m sure the Clave doesn’t even know I’ve defected yet. I doubt even my mother will be informing them I’m gone after just a few hours,” Alec says and lets himself be comforted by Magnus’ fingers squeezed in his own.

“Even if she did, they won’t dare threaten the Accords by taking you from a downworlder holding, not once they know you have support from multiple factions,” Raphael says, drinking blood fortified with Bordeaux from a stemless wineglass.

“It’s true. Even they’re not that reckless,” Luke adds from the other armchair. “And word spreads fast in the downworld. The horrors of the Circle bought the them time, but the Clave has never been a friend in the eyes of downworlders… ”

Alec is about to reply when there’s a knock from the foyer. His body tenses and he fights back a groan at the way it inflames his aching muscles.

“Be calm, my darling. I do not believe there are enemies at the door,” Magnus quiets him and helps him to his feet.

Alec’s shoulders relax as a pulse of Magnus magic washes through him from the hand resting in the dip of his spine, taking away his pain. Even without Alec saying it aloud, Magnus knows.

They walk to the front door together, Raphael, Simon, and Luke in tow. No matter what Magnus believes, the fact remains that their enemies are not few nor far between.

Sure enough, though, three familiar faces are behind the door. Their presence isn’t surprising, but the sheer amount of bags and duffles that surround them sure is.

“Hey, big brother, huge favor to ask…” Isabelle says, carrying by far the most luggage.

“Mind if we crash here a while?” Jace finishes.

“Turns out I’m homeless… again…” Clary adds.

Alec’s brow furrows, but he seems to be the only one confused by their words. Isabelle doesn’t hesitate to roll her eyes.

“Alec, you didn’t really think we would let you do this by yourself,” Jace says, the humor in his words fading into something much more genuine. “I told you once and I’ll tell you again… I don’t want to live in a world where we aren’t on the same side.”

It takes a pathetically long time for Alec to piece together what it all means. What they’re doing, standing, surrounded by all their possessions, in the doorway of the place he’s come to call home.

“Y-you can’t,” is the first thing that comes out of Alec’s mouth.

“I think what Alexander means to say is, _of course you can stay. Come in_ ,” Magnus chides, hand still warm in the small of his back.

Alec looks back at him.

“You knew? You _all_ knew they were coming,” Alec realizes as Simon casually helps Clary and Isabelle carry their bags into the loft.

Nobody denies it. Isabelle approaches Alec, cupping his face in one of her palms.

“Sometimes you have to hide something from someone because you know that, if they knew, the love in their heart would never allow them to let you make your own choice,” Isabelle says and Alec’s eyes go wide.

He freezes there for a moment, looking down at her, scrambling for a retort - but then the fight goes out of him. He drops head, sighing heavily.

“Which guest room do you want…?”

 

To Alec’s discontent, the whole group demands that planning the logistics of their open defection waits until the morning.

“You’re brain and body were fried today. Rest for four goddamn minutes, Alec,” Jace says, handing him a mug of tea from the tray Simon brought from the kitchen. “It’ll take days for them to realize we aren’t coming back.”

In the spirit of not fighting, and general exhaustion, Alec acquiesces. Instead of planning or making any very necessary decisions, Alec drifts in and out of awareness as the rumble of Magnus’ voice resonates through Alec’s back. He’s not happy about it, or at least he wouldn’t be, if he didn’t feel so content.

 _If I could choose, it would be you_.

It’s all that matters. He’ll figure everything out later.

There’s some laughter around him, and warmth, too. The immortals are telling stories again, and the others are trying to call bluffs. Simon makes way too many references that escape Alec completely. Isabelle’s feet are tucked under Alec’s thigh and Luke and Clary share the sofa across from them. Jace sits on the floor, sharpening a seraph dagger. The sound shouldn’t be soothing, but it’s more familiar than a lullaby to Alec.

The momentary ease is shattered by another knock at the door. Alec’s half lidded eyes spring wide and this time Magnus doesn’t assure him when he tenses.

As far as anyone knows, most of the friends they have are currently on _this_ side of the door. Once again the whole group moves together to the foyer. Jace doesn’t put his dagger away. Magnus steps in front of Alec to open the door before the tired Shadowhunter can complain.

The door opens - and everyone’s guard drops immediately.

“Max?!”

Suddenly there are small arms around Alec’s waist.

And Lydia Branwell still stands before him in Magnus’ doorway.

 

A while later, Max is tucked into a spare bed and Alec’s exhaustion is forgotten. Lydia sits in a plush chair with hot, green tea in a mug between her palms. Alec is already calculating how long it will take for the Clave to descend once they get wind that Max Lightwood has been _taken_.

“He can’t be here--”

“Alec,” Lydia interrupts him right away. “I know what you’re thinking, but Max is not kidnapped. He is here with his parents’ consent.”

Everyone is quiet for long seconds.

“Maryse and Robert?” Clary confirms, as if Max suddenly had _other_ parents that they didn’t know about.

Alec doesn’t blame her; he’s almost as confused.

“Maryse came to the Mumbai Institute, must have been only a few hours after the ritual… She brought _him_ to _me,_ ” Lydia says.

“But why?” Alec asks.

It’s not Lydia, but Luke, who replies.

“Thing are different when you’re older,” he begins. “Sometimes it’s too hard to change, but it doesn’t mean you don’t want things to be better for those who come after you…”

Alec doesn’t understand, but then he’s never fully understood his mother. All he knows now is that everyone he holds dearest is under one roof. Things are dangerous, precarious, but with everyone here, at least the helpless feeling that once filled him has drained away.

Alec feels Magnus’ finger trace over his pulse point, reminding Alec just how much he isn’t alone anymore. He spares Magnus a soft smile, which is equally returned.

“So… what do we do now?” Lydia asks.

“What do you mean?”

Lydia nearly laughs as she takes in the blank look on Alec’s face.

“You really have no idea the impact you make,” she says.

“Oh, that’s always been his problem,” Magnus says, dry and sweet.

“I don’t--”

Lydia looks up at him, holding his gaze.

“I know the Irak-Ta was your personal stand, but you don’t exist in a vacuum. Since I met you all, I’ve been rethinking everything. It’s taken me a long time to realize after I lost John… maybe if I’d let them torture that Warlock, maybe then he would have lived. But even if he had… it wouldn’t have made it right. A life bought with torture… maybe I could have even lived with it. But that didn’t make it _right,”_ Lydia presses. “I’m not the only one coming to the same conclusions about how the Clave operates… towards downworlders or our own. More are coming, Alec, and once they get wind you’ve all defected, they’ll come to _you_.”

Alec fishmouths. This was never his plan. He didn’t mean to trigger a mass Shadowhunter mutiny.

“I don’t want to start a war. That’s not… we _can’t_ ,” Alec says, and he means it.

“I agree with the eldest Lightwood,” Raphael adds from where he leans against the window. “The last thing the downworld needs is another Shadowhunter coup d’etat.”

“Well, then we just don’t start a war. We make sure we don’t step on too many of the Claves’ toes, and then we do something that we should have done a hundred years ago,” Isabelle said.

“What are you talking about, Iz?” Jace asks, brow furrowed.

“We start an Alliance, between Shadowhunters and downworlders. We’ll start our own Institute, but for everyone. Then we’ll do what we do best,” Isabelle says.

Luke tilts his head to the side, and many eyes watch Isabelle carefully. Alec knows where she’s going though.

“We hunt demons...” Alec clarifies and Isabelle nods.

“Or deal with anything else particularly dangerous or nasty,” she adds.

Everyone is quiet for a moment, contemplating.

“It certainly would make the Clave think twice about making any moves upon refugee Shadowhunters,” Magnus comments.

“We’ll have to send out the word… find a place to stay…” Alec says, and then sways on his feet.

Magnus is right next to him, between one breath and the next..

“Alright, enough. We can plan peaceful rebellions tomorrow. For now, I’m taking you to bed,” Alec says.

Alec has no fight left in him. He leans heavily into Magnus as they move down the corridor.

“Wait,” murmurs as they pass the door of a guest bedroom.

Alec cracks it open, seeing Max’s head resting softly on the pillow. His heart stutters in his chest, unsure if it’s trying to slow or speed.

“We’ll take care of him,” Magnus assures him. “We all will.”

“He’ll be fine. He’s twelve. That’s not so young… by Shadowhunter standards,” Alec whispers.

Magnus rolls his eyes, tucking his forehead into the crook of Alec’s neck.

“Ah, yes. Standards determined by those who find public torture acceptable…”

Alec lays his cheek on Magnus’ silky hair.

“I want to take him to the National History Museum in London… I think he’d like the dinosaurs, too.”

“Of course, my love. And we’ll have the biggest birthday party you’ve ever seen…”

“Yeah… I think he’d like that, too.”

Alec presses his lips to Magnus’ forehead. He knows he still has to earn Magnus’ forgiveness, but he has plans, and the Warlock seems content to to put it all on the backburner for now. With a snap of Magnus’ fingers they’re alone, bedroom door shut behind them.

They pull their clothes off without finesse and crawl into bed, clumsy and languid. Skin touches skin, warm without heat. Alec pulls Magnus back into his arms, tangling their legs, linking their fingers. He want to say something, talk to Magnus now that they’re finally alone, but sleep is dragging him down violently.

“I love you,” he settles on for now. “Forever...”

Alec feels lips against his scarred knuckles.

And in that moment nothing hurts.

**Author's Note:**

> TO BE CONTINUED! Hahaha hope you all enjoyed this one and hope to hear from you in the comments or [on tumblr](Spanglepup.tumblr.com)!


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